


Better When He's Asleep

by Lousy



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Aromantic, Asexual Character, Dib & Zim Friendship (Invader Zim), Dib Being an Asshole (Invader Zim), Fist Fights, Fluff and Angst, Gen, High School, Platonic Cuddling, Queerplatonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25243519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lousy/pseuds/Lousy
Summary: Zim has always been able to deny his denial issues, but when they hurt Dib and their already tenuous friendship Dib forces Zim to confront them out of selfishness. And then heactuallytries to help.Rated for language.
Relationships: Dib & Zim (Invader Zim)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	Better When He's Asleep

**Author's Note:**

> Fun game: spot the unnecessary events that let me describe additional cuddling positions.

They adored Zim. Their cheering as Zim marched on stage told him what he already knew, their posters and signs bearing his face reminding everyone else they should feel the same. The student population had of course felt this way since Zim’s first day among them but four years later and faced with his imminent leadership were unable to keep their excitement contained. Loudest in their praise were the initial supporter’s of Zim’s bid for president; a group of athletes Zim had mistaken as adversaries prior to the campaign.

Zim waved benevolently as he had seen his Tallest do and took his place behind one of the podiums on stage. The cheering didn’t have a chance to die down before Dib’s entrance kicked it up again. As Zim’s nominated vice president they were technically supposed to enter together, but his strutting and grinning (and winking?) at the crowd would’ve gotten in the way of Zim’s calculated entrance so he ignored the infraction. Besides, their friendship was on an abnormally long upswing and Zim wanted to at least wait until after he was elected to pick a fight.

As Dib took his place standing behind Zim, the other two pairs of candidates made their entrance to much less fanfare. Zim drummed his gloved fingers against the lectern and sent sneers down the line. Those fools. How could they pretend to compete with his and the Dib’s army of supporters let alone their leadership prowess? It was a mystery how Carl had survived the campaign this long and the skool’s planted candidate was only sustaining through the thoroughly rigged process that was the hi skool student government election. At this point the questioning was just a formality.

The chattering in the auditorium cut off like a trained animal faced with a whip as Ms. Bitters swept onto the stage.

“Students. Today marks the final trial before the pre-determined election of your next student government— a hollow and ultimately meaningless position that gives you all the incorrect assumption that you have any amount of control over your pitiful lives.”

“That’s what she thinks,” Dib whispered from behind Zim.

“Yes! Soon this wretched skool will bow to Zim’s presidential power.”

Dib offered Zim a fist bump. He accepted with a grin. 

“Two microphones have been hidden somewhere in this room and once they are found can be used to ask questions of the candidates and their running mates. Fighting over the microphones is encouraged as is the humiliation of anyone on or off stage. Now,” Ms. Bitters cast her arms out, lighting flashing outside despite the clear weather, “let the debate commence!”

Students scattered. Zim was pleased to see his constituents leading an aggressive search effort for the microphones, shoving students, lifting chairs, lifting students, and shoving chairs. But for all of their efforts, the first microphone was found lodged in the throat of an underclassman by his friends and the second was retrieved from the auditorium’s standard-issued ‘overflowing garbage can of doom.’ With both found, the questioning began with the underclassmen.

“Hi, uhhhh, general question. What are your plans for curbing the violence faced by freshmen? I’m definitely not saying that’s a problem with the skool,” the speaker glanced nervously at a nearby election drone, “but I think the mortality rate going from freshman to sophomore year could be… improved on.”

“Yes, hello, Zim speaking, your future ruler. Ehh, the current system for culling the weak will be kept if for no other reason than to keep their smelly weakness away from Zim. Next question!”

Despite Zim’s declaration, the other two candidates offered their non committal answers to the question, the planted candidate throwing in several heartfelt proclamations of her love for the skool as she did.

The garbage diver was next. “For Carl, how are you— HEY!”

One Zim’s lackeys had shoved the speaker, another taking the opportunity to snatch the mike out of her hand. “Hey Zim! What should we call you when you become president?”

“Excellent question, Rob-filth! You shall call me Almighty Tal— eh, Ruler Zim. Those who do not comply will be enslaved to janitorial duties.”

A ‘ha!’ was barely audible through the speakers and was followed by frantic, giggly shushing. The fight between the garbage diver and the athlete started again for the mike.

“…being mean!” echoed through the speakers in a high pitched voice.

Zim bristled. “Do not call my loyal servants ‘mean,’ girl! They are merely exerting their superiority to support ME your rightful and most respected ruler.”

The girl leveled an incredulous look onto Zim before releasing the mike. “Fine. He deserves it.”

The athlete took the mike with a grin. “Hey, what’s your policy on beans?”

“Yesss, Zim’s enemy, the vile _vile_ slop this school serves under the lie of nutrition. Under Zim’s reign all beans will be destroyed and replaced with superior rations digestible only by the elite.” Zim clamored onto the podium, thrusting his fists into the air, “DOWN WITH BEANS!”

The crowd was so overcome they laughed in exaltation.

The next comment was barely audible. “Question for Dib.”

Zim let himself be shooed off the podium by a perky looking Dib. “Yeah?”

“What’s your plan for the skool if there’s a supernatural emergency? Isn’t that a specialty of yours?”

“Well I never imagined it would come up in my bid for office, but as a matter of fact it is! The plan still needs to be incorporated with skool resources once I gain access, but I believe any institution should be prepared for contact with the paranormal, so,” he trailed off, staring out at where the group with the microphone had their heads together, whispering furiously.

“Answer the question!” Zim hissed, “The people are concerned for their safety and they will not lie to themselves.”

“Something’s not ri—”

“Hey, aren’t you a paranormal investigator?” asked one of their constituents, snatching the mike out his friend’s hand.

Dib’s hand drifted up to his cowlick. “Uh, yeah?”

“Investigate much of that paranormal dick lately?”

“Wha—”

“Now hold on, don’t get defensive,” the speaker pushed away the person grabbing at the mike and whispering ‘too soon!’ “I just think we have the right to know if our vice president is a monster fucker.”

“No!” Dib grasped the lectern like the alternative was floating into space. “I’m not— I don’t— I… I just don’t think my— my sex life—”

“Or lack of!” An audience member shouted.

Dib was scarlet. “Shut up!” he screamed. “I’m not a monster fucker!”

He was barely heard over the howling laughter of the audience and jabs about his relationship with BigFeets.

Breathing in short, jerking gasps, Dib backed away from the podium and pawed behind him for Zim. “We need to leave, I was right this whole time!” When Zim didn’t move, Dib jerked on his arm, “Come ON!”

Zim snatched his arm back. “You’re overreacting, _Dib_. Just answer the question.”

“ _What_? How can you still think they’re… can’t you see this whole thing has been a joke to them?”

“Pah,” Zim waved Dib away and approached the lectern. “Maybe _you’re_ a joke since you’re a ‘monster fucker,’ but the adoration these smellies have for Zim is obvious.” He waved genially.

Dib stared at Zim in shock. “Fuck you.” He swung a punch at Zim’s head to the delight of the audience.

Zim ducked. “You insolent filth!”

Dib had his arm cocked back, but held it to search Zim’s face with desperation. Finding it unyielding and unapologetic, he ran offstage to the student body’s chant of ‘monster fucker.’ Zim paid him no mind and turned back to his adoring crowd.

“Okay, okay, I have another question for Zim!”

“Cut it out!” Someone without a mike shouted. “Some of us are actually taking this election seriously, ask a real candidate already!”

“Eh? Zim does not—”

“SILENCE!” Ms. Bitters swept onto the stage, placing herself between Zim and his lectern. “Without a vice presidential candidate you are no longer eligible for your nominated position. If Dib isn’t back within fifteen minutes you’re both disqualified and will be sent to the underground classrooms.”

“LIES!”

Zim’s forehead wrinkled. He… hadn’t said that. Zim looked to the audience for the source of the startlingly accurate shout but found a sea of students laughing and trying their own impressions.

Zim’s antennae flattened further under his wig. “Fine! I will retrieve the Dib and claim my position as your supreme and most respected ruler!” Leaving behind his cheering fans, Zim stormed off the stage.

The doors eased shut behind him, their click the only bridge between the cacophony of the auditorium and silence of the hall. Zim scowled and looked to each end of the hallway for a clue at where his vice president might have run off to in his baby rampage.

“Dib! Hey Diiiiib! You can stop being stupid and angry now!”

No response. There was no convenient Dib trail to follow, but something about the right side of the hallway poked at the back of Zim’s mind. He walked that direction, trying to piece together what exactly was different. Seeing a ragged scrap of paper taped to the wall connected the synapses: he couldn’t see his face anywhere. Unlike the rest of the skool, the walls of the hallway weren’t plastered with ‘VOTE ZIM! (and Dib)’ posters.

Zim grinned, “I have you now, Dib-pig.”

Taking off at a jog, Zim followed the trail of missing posters, occasionally calling Dib’s name or making a vague threat to his wellbeing if he didn’t get his ass back to the debate within twelve minutes. The trail ended at a set of doors leading out to the loading dock. Zim pushed through them and strode into the sunlight, his antennae quivering at the stench of the dumpsters lining one side of the concrete rectangle.

“Dib!”

Dib didn’t look up, focusing on stuffing an armful of posters into a dumpster without losing any to the wind.

“Zim needs you to stop being a pissy baby and reclaim your position as vice president so that Zim may rule!” When Dib didn’t stop, Zim stomped his foot. “Now! We are running out of time!”

Not making eye contact, Dib threw the last of the posters into the dumpster. “How about you fuck off and stop ruining my life.”

“That is not the correct answer. Zim needs you to come, so you will come.”

Dib scowled and turned to walk away.

“Dib!” Seething, Zim marched after Dib and pulled on his arm, “We only have minutes before my window of opportunity for ruling the skool and gaining the adoration of our peers ends— don’t be selfish!”

Dib slapped Zim’s hands away. “Don’t be selfish? Are you serious? I know I’m supposed to be patient with your denial issues—”

“What issues! Zim has no issues!”

“—but what the fuck! I was trying to help you understand that those people have never wanted anything more than to hurt us but you couldn’t see past your own delusions and you, and you… ARGH!” Using both of his hands, Dib shoved Zim in the chest. “I thought we were friends!”

Zim only looked startled for an instant. “This isn’t very friendly of you, Dib. Now come with Zim and face our underlings.”

“I’m not being ‘friendly’ with you after you sided with those assholes. You might like being jerked around and lied to but I don’t!” Dib shoved Zim back again, his PAK clanging off the dumpster.

“We don’t have time for your stinky human feelings! We only have nine minutes before I’m removed from the running and lose my place as supreme ruler!”

CLANG

Zim stumbled forward, holding his head in one hand as it reverberated its impact with the dumpster. His eye throbbed.

Dib shook out his fist. “Wake up already, I’m sick of this shit.”

Eyes narrowed, Zim met Dib’s stare. “If you will not come willingly, Zim will drag you back! Zim will be respected by all!”

With that, he lunged forward and grabbed Dib’s legs, sending them both to the ground. Dib’s head bounced off the pavement, his glasses flying off, hands reaching for Zim. Getting a lucky grab on an arm and a thigh, he lifted Zim and then drove him face first into the pavement. As Zim tried to get up, a hand gripped the back of his wig and ground his face into the concrete.

“I’ll beat it into you if I have to— we’re a joke to them!”

Zim dislodged Dib’s hand before rolling away and jumping into a fighting stance. “LIES!”

The impostor from the debate came back to Zim. The laughter that followed.

“Oof!” Zim stumbled back while shaking his head to clear the static from Dib’s glancing punch. Dib was approaching again, arm drawn back. This time Zim dropped low and swept a leg under Dib’s feet to send him crashing to the ground. He then delivered a series of precision blows to the human’s squishy stomach meat which Dib curled into himself to avoid. When Zim let up and tried to grab one of Dib’s legs, it kicked up and smacked Zim’s crotch. Undeterred, Zim jumped onto Dib’s stomach and made a grab for his hair.

The elbow came out of nowhere, knocking Zim off and sending him sprawling. Bent over slightly, Dib swayed to his feet.

“They never wanted us to be elected, Zim, they never respected us. The campaign and the support was just another another way to abuse us, just like your mission to Earth. They’re the same, you need to face it!”

“Silence! You know nothing of these things!” Using his PAK legs to propel himself, Zim sprang at Dib’s head and latched onto his face. He yanked Dib’s hair in an imitation of a technique he’d witnessed on their French and food themed ‘Earth Culture Movie Marathon’ to guide Dib back to the door. Unable to see, Dib flailed and stumbled towards the wall until he smacked it with his back. Anticipating what Dib was about to do as he turned to face the wall, Zim flipped as Dib started his headbut so he was holding onto Dib’s shoulders. Dib’s head connected with a crack.

Taking advantage of Dib’s disorientation, Zim dropped from his shoulders and kicked his knees out. Dib fell, barely catching himself in time to prevent more head trauma. Zim grabbed his shoes and dragged him to the door. All this would be much easier if Dib was unconscious.

“Seven minutes, Earth scum. You will not cost me this!”

Dib tried to resist, but the earlier blows he had taken to the stomach kept him from being able to curl and reach his feet and without his glasses all his swipes would have gone wide regardless. “Come on, Zim! I know some part of you understands they don’t actually want you to be president— don’t do this! If I get on stage they’ll call me a monster fucker again or say I’ve been sleeping with _you_ or— or, I don’t know, but I can’t do it again!”

Zim soldiered on. As he dragged Dib past the door jamb, his momentum was interrupted with a jerk. Dib had latched his fingers onto the frame and was looking at Zim with big, watery eyes. “Please! I know it’s hard to accept, but you have to understand sometime!”

So distracted he was by the uncharacteristic desperation that Zim didn’t notice Dib sharply retracting his legs until it had happened. Zim’s faceplant when he refused to let go gave Dib the chance he needed to pin Zim to the ground with an arm over his neck and his weight pressing down onto his PAK. “Zim, please, for me. It’s the same thing as with the armada, you need to accept that every time they interact with you it’s just a joke to them, they don’t care. And yeah, you’re kind of a piece of shit, but I care man, and that’s—”

“ _RRRRRAGH_!” Zim’s mechanical legs exploded from his PAK, shooting Dib off his back and through the loading dock doors.

Hearing a thick smack and no more lying slander, Zim lay still on the tile. He closed his eyes, concentrated on anything other than the thoughts swarming out from every crevice of his mind. With a deep breath he peeled himself off the floor and retracted his PAK legs before wiping away some of the human blood on the back of his head and the Irken blood on his face. Outside, Dib was lying still on the concrete.

When he didn’t move as Zim nudged him with a foot, he felt a bolt of excitement and grabbed Dib’s shoes. Looking back as he dragged Dib through the doors he saw the human was leaving a streak of blood. He could still make it, adoration and acceptance were close at hand— all he had to do was walk back onto stage with this weak sniveling human that had plagued his life with lies and strife since his first day here.

_They don’t care. But I do._

* * *

In many ways Dib was better when he was asleep. He was quieter, less obtrusive, and more pleasant in almost every aspect. If he fell asleep while watching a movie there was even the added bonus of Zim getting to pick what played on the TV while Dib got his face drawn on as Gaz had taught him. And although, as Zim had recently found out, he had an annoying habit of flopping all over the place while being carried, it was still better than many of his waking habits. One of those habits being weakly and repeatedly punching Zim after only a few seconds of regained consciousness.

“Lemme go you asshole! You can’t make me go back!”

Zim readjusted Dib’s weight over his shoulder. “Silence your mouth, filth! You’ve already cost me the position I so deservingly deserve.”

“Huh?”

Zim grit his teeth. “Zim’s opportunity for leadership ended twenty minutes ago.”

“What? Then where are we—”

Dib cut off with a gurgle and the pounding on Zim’s back intensified. He moved to the edge of the sidewalk and dumped Dib into the grass where he performed a commendable impression of a dog that had recently gotten into a compost pile. He gasped for breath but was choked off by another stream of vomit, this one less red. Zim looked elsewhere but when the gross noises stopped found that Dib was shaking.

“Do _not_ fall into that.”

Dib squeezed his eyes shut and scrubbed the back of his hand over his lips. Zim picked at his gloves and looked away. Without the distraction of movement and purpose his uniform was growing unbearable.

“Come.”

Zim seized Dib’s arm and hauled him to his feet, leading him down the street like a two year old. Much like a two year old, Dib wobbled behind him and complained.

“What’d you do to me? I feel like I got shit out by something. And my head…”

“You have the human concussion from performing so poorly in our battle. Zim is taking you to your base so you may recover and continue to contribute to our arrangement rather than taking all of Zim’s time and energy.”

“If you’re talking about our friendship you should know I’m still pissed at you.”

Zim jerked Dib’s arm harder than necessary as he pivoted towards the Membrane house. “We’re here.”

After pushing Dib up the stairs and into the bathroom, Zim occupied himself by marching back and forth and letting his PAK take care of the damage to his face. Every time Zim passed the door and saw Dib squinting an inch from the mirror and being inefficient in healing his surface wounds Zim had to keep himself from barging in and showing him how it was done. Finally, Zim remembered the scuffed pair of glasses in his PAK and set them on the counter.

“You picked them up. Thanks,” after putting them on, Dib was quick to add, “but fuck you still.”

Zim made an about face and resuming his pacing. The cleaning continued, much faster now. Still, Zim was nearly crawling out of his skin by the time Dib threw away his used gauze pads and put up the rubbing alcohol. When he reached into the medicine cabinet for Advil Zim slapped his hand away.

“Idiot, you already took the recommended amount.”

Dib groaned. “But my head still hurts! And it’s you fault so you should let me—”

“No!”

Zim pushed Dib out of the bathroom and closed the door behind them, ending the argument.

“Whatever. Well,” he glanced down the hall to his room and then back to Zim, “I’m gonna change so… time for you to fuck off. See you tomorrow I guess.”

Zim didn’t return his wave and watched Dib close his bedroom door behind himself. As soon as it shut he resumed pacing and picking at his gloves. Lifting them from his skin as much as the material would allow only offered momentary relief to the strange itching and did nothing to help the rest of his body. He glanced down at his uniform, his _invader_ uniform, a symbol of his status and prestige. A symbol of his… 

“Computer!”

An orb floated out of Zim’s PAK.

WHAT.

“Run a diagnostic scan to find the source of this itching.”

BUT I’VE ALREADY RUN TWO TODAY.

“Do not be lazy! Only one of those scans was on me regardless, so do as I command.”

OOH, RIGHT AWAY.

Zim pulled at his collar as a beam of light swept up and down his body. The orb pulsed twice before Computer spoke again.

I HOPE YOU’RE NOT SURPRISED BY THIS, BUT THE SCAN IS 99.6% IDENTICAL TO THE PREVIOUS. INDETERMINATE SOURCE OF ITCHING.

“Eh? Then the problem must be with Zim’s uniform.”

The orb bobbed silently for a moment.

WE BOTH KNOW THAT I KNOW THAT YOU KNOW WHAT THE PROBLEM IS.

“Shut up!” Zim growled.

At the end of the hall, Dib’s door opened. “Zim? Why are you still here?”

Dib leaned heavily on his doorway, clearly out of exhaustion rather than an attempt to look suave. He wore shorts and a baggy t-shirt and was starting to look more concerned than pissed off, probably because he had squeezed out of those skinny jeans he insisted were cool.

“Zim has to ensure the Dib does not fall unconscious and apparently also has to make sure you do not abuse your medicine.”

“I thought you were mad at me. For… y’know.”

Zim averted his gaze and Computer retreated unobtrusively into Zim’s PAK. “You were mistaken.”

Dib looked a good deal brighter at that. “Then if you’re gonna stay you need to tell me what happened after you knocked me out. Did you go back?”

Zim made a displeased noise and fidgeted with his tunic. “No,” he barked. “Zim already told you that.”

“… Does that mean you understand what I was trying to tell you? Y’know, about…” Dib contorted his hands in a way that might be interpretable as an Irken ship.

But Zim wasn’t paying attention. His skin was crawling, at war with synthetic fibers he wore. Always having been a seamless part of himself before now the uniform felt impossibly constricting. “I wish to change my clothes.”

Dib glanced to the side, looking for the joke. “Do you even have other clothes? Do we need to go back to your house?”

“No! Eh, Zim only owns his uniforms. Zim does not… does not wish to wear his uniform.”

“Oh.” Dib’s voice was soft. Zim hated it, the anger was better. “Well you’ll probably fit into some of the stuff I wore when I was in middel skool if that sounds good to you.”

Zim nodded, still avoiding eye contact. 

“C’mere so you can see what I’ve got.”

Zim followed Dib into his room and took to tearing a piece of paper into pieces while Dib rooted through the back of his closet.

“It’s a good thing I never got rid of all this,” Dib said, emerging with an armful of small clothes. He dumped them at Zim’s feet and watched as Zim tried to mush the shreds of paper together before throwing them aside in disgust. He then picked through the pile for a pair of sweatpants and a nondescript t-shirt. Without a word, Zim marched them back to the bathroom and shut the door.

He stripped off his gloves and boots eagerly before wiggling out of his leggings and removing his tunic. The relief was immediate, the itching completely gone although he still held his tunic in his hands. He stared. This was the uniform he’d worn when he’d been assigned to Earth. It was his nicest piece of clothing reserved for special occasions such as receiving an invader mission or being crowned the undisputed and widely adored ruler of his classmates.

_Ask a real candidate!_

“ _Rrrragh_!” Zim yanked at the fabric and when it wouldn’t tear threw it in the bathtub. He jumped onto the edge and pulled out his blasting PAK leg to aim at the scrap of magenta fabric.

A knock on the door. The same soft, horrible, pitying voice. “You okay in there?”

The gun drooped. “Zim is… yes, Zim is fine.”

He dressed in the clothes Dib had given him and left his uniform where it lay. Dib was waiting outside, sitting on the floor with his eyes closed.

“Hey! No sleeping.”

“I know, I know,” he cracked an eyelid. “Those fit okay?”

“They’re fine.”

“You uh, you feeling better?”

“Have you forgotten so soon that _you_ are the one with the head injury? Zim is in perfect health thanks to my superior technology.”

Dib nodded awkwardly, tapped on the floor. His next words came out in a rush, “I’m sorry for getting so angry at you, I didn’t even think about how hard that must’ve been for you, I was just so mad and wrapped up in myself and I know I need to work on that and… yeah.”

Dib looked earnestly at Zim. When he didn't respond Dib only looked a little dejected but let Zim help him to his feet. He descended the stairs carefully, keeping a hand on Zim’s shoulder to steady himself before preparing an ice pack and collapsing onto the couch with it held to his head. He turned on the TV but immediately adjusted the brightness and volume to a point where it may as well have stayed off.

Seeing Dib was no longer a threat to himself, Zim left to raid the kitchen for all of the Membrane family’s cheese products and melt them together in an absurdly large bowl. He watched the bowl rotate in the microwave. This wasn’t schmooping cheese, he had nothing to schmoop about. He just wanted cheese was all. Perfectly purposeless cheese.

When the cheese had melted into a thick slurry, Zim hot potatoed the bowl to sit on the only part of the couch not taken up by Dib’s sprawl. He balanced the bowl on his lap to remove and stow away his disguise before slouching into the couch as much as it would allow. He scooped up a handful of melted cheese and licked it off his bare hand, staring listlessly at the TV.

“Hey.” Zim spared Dib a glance. “Is that part of your schmooping thing?”

Zim grunted.

“Wha— no!”

Dib sat up with evident effort and tried to wrestle the bowl away from Zim.

“Cease! I must begin construction on my cheesy cocoon for, eh, non schmooping purposes.”

“No!” Dib ripped the bowl away and held it above his head. “You have to face your problems head on, you can’t use cheese escapism for all your issues.”

“Cope with what, Zim is not coping with anything, Zim is perfectly fine.”

“Zim,” Dib said, exasperated. “I know this is hard for you, but it’s hard for me too. Let me help and make up for being a jerk earlier.”

Zim stopped reaching for the cheese. “Fine.”

Dib set the bowl onto the coffee table before stretching back out onto the couch. He wriggled so he was facing the TV with his back meeting the rear of the couch. His confidence had evaporated. “So, um, if you don’t wanna do this I totally get it, but I’ve already lost all my dignity today, so what the fuck.” He opened his arms. “Cuddle? It’s like a cocoon, but a ‘person who cares about you’ cocoon.”

Zim wanted to resist, to show strength, but even without his uniform, or maybe because he wasn’t wearing his uniform, his body was demanding comfort. He kept his eyes low and his mouth shut as he crawled up the couch and into Dib’s arms. Feeling the warmth as Dib cautiously looped his arms around him, Zim’s antennae perked up and he burrowed his head under Dib’s chin, circling his arms under Dib’s armpits to get himself as close as he could to the source.

“This okay?” Dib rumbled.

Zim’s antennae danced up in response, one tapping against Dib’s face, the other finding his cowlick.

Dib squeezed and _holy Irk Zim had never felt this good in his life_.

He had seen this technique before in some of the Earth media Dib insisted they watch together. It was rare in Dib’s selections that a scene with non-violent contact would come up, but when it did Dib became squirmy and skipped ahead to where the two humans would lay much like he and the Dib were laying, although the suggestion of flashing skin, thrown back heads, and repetitive motions lingered. That wasn’t the case in their current embrace. None of the primitive human pheromones Zim had connected to such skin flashing, head throwing moments were present. It was simply comfort.

They sat in silence, Zim focusing on the rhythmic beating of Dib’s heart and not the shitstorm his mind was simultaneously brewing up and shutting down. He let himself relax.

“I don’t think I ever thanked you for not taking me back to the debate when I was passed out so uh, thank you.”

Zim hummed in response.

“Do you wanna talk about that by the way?”

“No.”

“C’mon, it’s not healthy to bottle up your thoughts and feelings like that. My therapist told me it can lead to violent outbursts and I’m not sure I would survive another one of those from either of us so soon.”

Zim didn’t move.

“I can start if you want.”

Zim quickly zoned out for Dib's unrelatable whining about craving approval from their peers and lying to himself about their intentions to get it. He also ignored the totally preposterous bit regarding "denial" and "violent coping mechanisms" and how that related to their "frankly, very shitty friendship." He only started paying attention again when Dib started talking about him.

“... and no offense, but when you tried to get me to stay after they’d said that shit about me in front of the entire skool I hated your fucking guts. I knew you didn’t understand, but it still hurt. Even though we fight all the time you’re all I have and you just said a big ‘fuck you’ to me.”

Zim’s spooch clenched and he hugged Dib closer.

“Thanks,” Dib pressed his chin into the top of Zim’s head. “Anything you’d like to share? It’ll make you feel better and I was already right about the cuddling. Unless I wasn’t?” he teased.

Dib relaxed his arms and scooted infinitesimally away from Zim. Feeling cool air slip between them, Zim panicked and tightened his grip, closing the gap.

“Zim will speak when cocooned!”

Dib being intentionally and agonizingly slow in closing his arms again, Zim scrambled for more contact and wrapped a leg over Dib’s thighs, the other forcing its way between them.

“Woah, nononono!”

Dib’s arms disappeared entirely from around Zim to shove him away as he scrambled into an upright position, hissing at the sudden movements.

“Fuck, sorry, it’s just… no. No crotchal region. That means no thighs or legs or anything close to my crotch or no more of this.” He flattened his hands and sighed. “Please.”

Zim scowled, “Yes, fine, just get back to cocooning already.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “Okay, let me just…” Dib stretched out again, this time on his back. He made room between his side and the back of the couch and raised that arm. “Alright, get over here.”

Zim was eager to nestle himself between the couch and the Dib, keeping an arm over Dib’s chest and holding the other between them. Looking at Dib for an averse reaction, he hooked an ankle just under Dib’s knee so his entire front was pressed against Dib’s side. Dib tucked an arm around his shoulders and gave a light squeeze.

“Okay, go.”

Zim whined.

“C’mon, I told you all of my feelings.”

“Pah.”

Dib gently shook his shoulder. “C’mon, Zim. Ziiim. Ziiiii—”

“GIVE ME A MOMENT, DIB.”

Dib winced and held his head in one hand.

Zim’s antennae flattened. “Well stop being concussed if you’re going to complain about it so much,” he muttered, lowering his head back onto Dib’s chest. “So. The campaign.”

“The campaign.”

“It… did not go as Zim expected. The adoration and obsession of our constituents manifested differently than Zim anticipated which was,” he closed his eyes and turned his face into Dib’s shirt, “reminiscent of the Tallest’s unusual orders and assignments for an elite invader. I do not understand either.”

He clutched Dib’s shirt and shivered at the gentle scraping of Dib’s nails up and down and up and down his back.

“That it?” Dib whispered. “Sure you don’t have anything else in the tank?”

“No, there is nothing else in Zim’s tank. Zim’s tank is perfect and empty and glorious, SHUT UP!”

“Okay, okay, we’ll keep working on it.”

Zim nuzzled into Dib’s neck. They stayed like that, Dib ghosting his fingers over Zim’s back and Zim relaxing into the warmth of the one-armed embrace. Compared to the discomfort of his uniform Zim may as well have been in his gestation tube. Zim was loosened from his daze when Dib’s arm relaxed and his breathing dropped off. Zim’s traitorous spooch twisted when he shook Dib awake and saw panic rush his veins before it ebbed to a state of exhaustion.

“I fell asleep.”

“Yes.” Zim as already squirming back into Dib’s side and pulling his arm around him again, but Dib took it back.

“It’s probably for the best, we need to move out of the living room since Gaz is gonna be home in a few. Would you be okay moving up to my room? I promise I don’t have ulterior motives,” he said, grinning wryly.

“Zim does not understand why the Gaz’s presence is problematic.”

“Then you haven’t known her long enough.”

Dib bit his lip as he struggled upright, leaning down to pick the melted ice pack off the floor. He gave himself a moment to sway and hold onto the armrest after standing. Zim once again offered his shoulder to safely mount the stairs and only threw a little bit of a fit when Dib asked him to pick up the pieces of his uniform so it didn’t look like Zim had been flash stripped and fucked in the bathroom.

Meeting back in Dib’s room, they tried several configurations on the bed that wouldn’t compromise either’s ability to hold a controller or see the screen and only came to their solution when Dib was attempting to restrain Zim’s flailing. Zim sat with his back against the headboard and his legs straight in front of him, Dib’s hips situated just to the side and angled out from Zim’s. Dib leaned his weight into Zim’s torso and let Zim’s arms wrap around his middle. Zim held the controller in front of Dib and beat him in round after round of video game combat.

It had been dark for hours when Zim felt Dib’s head loll onto his shoulder. His hair tickled Zim’s face pleasantly, (another item on the list of why Dib was better asleep) however Zim had a duty to uphold. Zim nudged his shoulder gently.

“Dib. Dib-smell. Hey. Hey.”

Dib whined and rubbed his face into Zim’s shoulder.

“You aren’t permitted to sleep.” Zim poked a finger into Dib’s forehead, pushing it back to see Dib’s hooded eyes sans glasses. No wonder he had done so poorly the last few rounds.

“Hasn’t it been long enough already?”

“Are you pupils still dilated?”

“I dunno. Is that something I can feel?”

Zim shrugged and pushed Dib to the edge of the bed. “Walk around eh… over there. If you succeed in not wobbling Zim will permit you to sleep.”

Dib nodded, sloughing out of bed. He meandered in circles to the soundtrack of Zim’s exaggerated ‘hmm’s.’ When Zim’s appraisal showed no signs of stopping, Dib crossed his arms.

“Am I good to go or should I just keep walking around ‘til I pass out?”

Zim threw in one last ‘hmm’ for good measure and flapped his hand at the wrist. “Yes, yes, very good.”

“ _Finally_.”

Dib quickly changed into a different t-shirt and boxers before crawling into bed, shooing Zim off so he could lift the covers for himself. After wiggling around to get comfortable, he watched where Zim was picking at the hem of Dib’s old shirt. He made a move for the door but stopped before actually getting anywhere.

“So what’s your plan now that you don’t have to babysit me?”

He crossed his arms and deflected his gaze to the floor. “Conquering your terrible planet while you recover, of course.”

Smiling drowsily, Dib lifted the covers in front of him.

Zim’s antennae perked up and before he could think he’d climbed in beside the smelly human who had plagued his life with lies and strife. Dib dropped the covers over them both and waited until Zim had shimmied to press his PAK against Dib’s stomach to tuck an arm around Zim’s front. Zim sighed and curled into a fetal position so his knees met the arm.

Zim felt it in Dib’s chest as he whispered, “Good night, Zim.”

In a lot of ways Dib was better when he was asleep. However, between all their arguments and the volatile moments of their friendship, there were maybe, _maybe_ , a few ways in which Dib wasn’t totally terrible when he was awake either.

“Good night, Dib.”


End file.
